Shyama Perera

Writer Shyama Perera, 42, is separated from her husband and lives in North-West London with her children Nushy, eight, and Tushy, five. She says:

Seeing a little boy running his Tonka truck up and down the kitchen table, or watching Bob The Builder for the fourth time in as many hours, a woman is filled with wonder at how simple are the pleasures of the young male.

Later, confronted with the adult version, that sense of wonder is replaced with confusion. OK, so he says he wants surf the net, or play football, or underpin the shed, but that surely can't be it? He should want to be with me - as I do with him - drinking cappuccino, going shopping, snuggling up together to watch an old movie. I must have done something to offend.

The problem is, we want men to want the same things as us. But they don't. Men compartmentalise their lives. We include them in everything we do: they include us only when there's a direct connection to the activity in hand.

It's why they find it easy to delegate. Women always want a joint say, but men are happy leaving it to the expert. So if a wife is adept at sorting out the home, the social life and the school run - then let her.

Into this perceived indifference, women weave all manner of meaning. But the basic thought running through the male mind comes down to a single cover-all statement: let me do things in my own way.

Women find this attitude utterly impenetrable. We look at men who, in every other way, are our intellectual equals, and wonder why they have such a problem with communication.

In truth, the problems are entirely of our making. We refuse to accept that in the area of relationships, men are on the cusp of autism.

It took me 40 years to realise a simple truth, and it is this: men are essentially uncomplicated beings whose lack of guile makes them appear deeply complex to the labyrinthine female mind.

We cannot accept there is so little to unravel in men. Therefore, we tie ourselves up in knots searching for hidden strata of thought and understanding. It doesn't exist.

Even when confronted with this simple truth again and again, we rail against it. We nag and moan and beg our men to be honest with us. We blame ourselves for their lack of depth. And we do this because admitting the truth is like putting a knife through the female heart.

What could be more depressing than acknowledging that, with such a paucity of material to work on, our chances of effecting change are virtually nil?

What do men want? Nine times out of ten, I think they want what they say they want: a faster car, a better job, a bigger house, more money, more sex, more fun, greater status.

They want whatever is riding high in their minds at that moment - a gin and tonic, last night's NASDAQ figures, a hole in one, or the girl in black boots who just walked into the bank.